The little half smile on James's face twists in on itself at Jack's words, and he pats himself down, searching for a pen. He finds one in the pocket of his blazer, and he produces it, feeling only slightly smug, taking Jack's proffered arm.
'I rather think you'll have to figure that part out for yourself. It'd take all the mystery out otherwise.'
James: he writes on Jack's arm, his usual firm, cursive hand made slightly awkward by the way the pen doesn't really seem to want to cooperate with him. He takes absent note of the hard lines of muscle in Jack's forearm, the sinuous lines of veins that stand up under the skin, and writes the number of his mobile along the length of one. The numbers waver slightly with the flexing of sinews and tendons under the skin.
'There you are.' He caps the pen, sticking it back in his pocket. There's a moment of slight awkwardness, and James shrugs, his hands finding places in the pockets of his jeans. 'If you feel like it.' Another pause. 'After your prison sentence, I suppose.'
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-10-23 05:31 pm (UTC)'I rather think you'll have to figure that part out for yourself. It'd take all the mystery out otherwise.'
James: he writes on Jack's arm, his usual firm, cursive hand made slightly awkward by the way the pen doesn't really seem to want to cooperate with him. He takes absent note of the hard lines of muscle in Jack's forearm, the sinuous lines of veins that stand up under the skin, and writes the number of his mobile along the length of one. The numbers waver slightly with the flexing of sinews and tendons under the skin.
'There you are.' He caps the pen, sticking it back in his pocket. There's a moment of slight awkwardness, and James shrugs, his hands finding places in the pockets of his jeans. 'If you feel like it.' Another pause. 'After your prison sentence, I suppose.'